


The Mot Juste

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Don't Ever Change [10]
Category: Actor RPF, Benedict Cumberbatch Fandom, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Dogs, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Prophetic Dreams, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We should have the conversation.”</p><p>“What conversation?”</p><p>“You know.”</p><p>“No, Thomas, I do not know. Aren’t we having a conversation?”</p><p>“Yes, we are having one, but we ought to…sort things out before I go back to London.”</p><p>“Sort things out?”</p><p>“Yes, you know…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mot Juste

  
OoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

Skipping was not exactly the most manly activity Tom could engage in, but he was too happy walk as a normal being. He’d already done the Silly Walk more times than was amusing, so skipping was called for, excessive smiling was called for— Tom was fully in a rhathymia mode. And he was in his own hotel room— who was going to see him skipping around? 

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Luke said, shutting the door behind him as he entered Tom’s hotel suite. 

“It’s actually a rather good physical activity to partake in,” Tom offered, though he did stop skipping across the lounge. 

“Yeah, but you’re in a suit,” Luke reminded him with a roll of his eyes. “Now, here’s the schedule for tonight. Zach and Chris both confirmed.”

“Oh! Brilliant. I haven’t seen either in much too long,” Tom commented, glancing out the window.

“You’re confirmed to attend the after party, as well,” Luke went on. 

Tom hummed, pulling out his mobile to check it. 

He had one text message.

_Done. Forgot how much I hate flying the t-6. Smells like puke._

Tom chuckled. 

Pamela had had her first flight today and she’d been quite nervous about the whole thing— even though she’d flown the plane before and passed pilot training with honors from what Door had told him. Pamela had been given the award for best student upon gradation.

“Earth to Tom. Earth to Tom.”

“Pardon?” Tom asked, slipping the phone back into his pocket. 

Luke sighed, giving him a look that might peel the wallpaper off the wall behind Tom if Luke tried hard enough. 

“You’ve been walking around with your head in the clouds all week,” Luke sighed. “And while I bet your fans love it because of how many photos everyone has of you beaming at the world, there is a limit till they’ll figure something is up. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Luke gave him a pointed look and waited.

“I’m Elysian, gladsome, and full of beatitude. Is it a malversation now?” Tom asked. 

Luke sighed at Tom’s verbomania.  

“I am your publicist, Tom. I deal with your image,” Luke reminded Tom.

Tom forgot sometimes Luke actually had a job to do and wasn’t simply his friend. Tom blended and erased the lines between employer and employee with many of the people who he employed in regard to his career— he hated thinking people were only around him because Tom paid them. 

“You pay me to make you look good,” Luke said, then took note of the expression on Tom’s face. “And you’re my friend, so you need to tell me what I’m dealing with.”

“Me.”

“The girl. She’s…not an actress, not a model, and not a public figure in any sense of the word if her body language was anything to go by at the MTV Movie Awards.”

“No. I told you, she’s a pilot,” Tom said, frowning. “What are you trying to tell me? You don’t get involved in my personal life. You’ve never asked this sort of thing before.”

Luke sighed, looking away from Tom. “I know. But, you’re…getting larger than life, Tom. Your personal life is going to be public if you keep going as you are.”

Tom scoffed. “I’ve been seeing Pamela for almost two weeks and have been out in public with her often— any rumors?”

Luke frowned. 

“Photos?”

Luke frowned deeper. 

“Exactly. And Ben told me that the ones that have surface have her wrongly identified,” Tom went on, fishing his mobile out. He opened up the email Ben had sent out to both Tom and Door earlier in the week showing a photo of Tom on the Orange Purse Day with Pamela on the tube taken by a fan that had surfaced on Tumblr. The person identified Pamela as Cricket Heidi. 

“Door thought it was hilarious,” Tom went on as Luke flicked his finger over the surface of Tom’s phone. “And I haven’t found any photos from this past weekend other than the one Door posted and the fans posted of me at the ranch.”

“Yeah, but why were you there? You just suddenly fancied yourself a tour guide and went out and found a random ranch?”

“Yes.”

Luke sighed a long suffering sort of sigh Tom didn’t usually cause. 

“I am friends with Cricket Heidi, along with Ben,” Tom tried. “They can choose to draw whatever conclusions they wish.” 

“She’s in the military.”

“Cricket?”

“No. Pamela,” Luke said, using her name for the first time. He looked tired. “She’s active duty, American military.

“Would it make a difference if she were British?” Tom asked, trying to figure out what Luke was getting at. 

Luke did not reply, but looked away. He fiddled with the phone before grabbing his tablet and flicking through things on the screen. He set Tom’s mobile on the coffee table and moved towards the door.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Luke?”

“It would,” he simply said. “You are British.”

“I noticed, darling,” Tom drawled. “Are you trying to rain on my parade?”

“No. No, I’m not. I don’t know what I’m trying to do, if I’m honest.”

Luke was still not looking at Tom. He sighed deeply and looked up when Tom started tapping his toe against the carpet in impatience. 

“Are you sure?” Luke questioned. 

“Yes.”

“Then, fine. It doesn’t matter what I think then,” Luke softly said, putting the tablet under his arm. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”

Luke opened the hotel door and held it open for Tom. Tom grabbed his jacket and slid it on. He snagged his mobile off the coffee table, pocketing it as he cross the room. 

“I feel as if we just had a major fight and now we’re not speaking about it,” Tom mused, pausing next to Luke. He studied the other man’s face. 

“We did not have a fight. I forget sometimes you tend to forget I’m your publicist sometimes before a friend,” Luke quietly said. “I was thinking like a publicist, not your friend.”

“Dating a service member would be bad press for myself?”

Luke slowly looked up at Tom and sighed deeply. 

“It’ll…it’ll make her life a little difficult,” Luke replied, looking away from Tom again. “I did research, asked around. It’s roughly a ten year commitment. She’s what? A captain? She’s been in for five or four years, Tom.”

Tom took the door from Luke and closed it. 

“Six years this May,” Tom said quietly. 

“Well, at least she hit the halfway point,” Luke said, laughing a little uncomfortably. “I’m just saying, she’s still in the early stages of her career in the military. She also moves every three or four years, right? She deploys, goes on missions. She’s gone a lot.”

“I am an actor, Luke. I know that did not escape your notice. I’m hardly ever in once place for long either.”

“I know. That is my point. Do you really want—”

“Yes. Matters of the heart don’t always make sense,” Tom quickly said. 

“Okay.”

“This is a heavy conversation,” Tom noted, chuckling. He looked at the closed door, his hand still gripping the knob. 

“I guess it’s better she’s not in some sort of super secret branch of the military,” Luke sighed. “And I guess…well, if Prince Harry can go to war, I’m sure Pamela Fitch will be able to continue doing whatever she does.”

“Luke, she’s a pilot. Currently, she’s training to teach other people to fly.”

“Well, then,” Luke said, nodding his head as if the conversation was really over this time. 

Tom reopened the door, stepping through it. He watched Luke as they headed out to the car that would take them to the premiere of _Iron Man 3_. He knew Luke had a point, yet he couldn’t bring himself to see either of their careers as an issue. Pamela was independent. While he knew they’d miss one another when they were busy and unable to see one another, this was the day and age of communication technology. There was almost no reason for one to be out of communication with another human being for too long. There was texting, phones, and video chatting. Tom knew he’d been spoiled— being in LA and her being in San Antonio— but he couldn’t see communication being an issue in the future unless she had a super secret mission.

Pamela had laughed when he’s brought it up. 

“What? I fly the T-6 now,” she’d chuckled, rolling her eyes over the video chat. 

Pamela was used to carrying on long distance relationships. She was good friends with Door and hadn’t seen Door in person till recently. During the time Pamela was in Seattle and Door was in Anchorage, they maintained a rather close friendship via the internet. They spent their Sundays watching Masterpiece Theater over the phone. They texted, called and emailed. 

The same thing went for Pamela’s family in Colorado Springs. Pamela was close to her family. She’d seen them more often than Door (who seemed to be her only really close friend she kept in constant contact with— that might have been more Door than Pamela’s doing).

It was early in the relationship. They were still getting to know one another, figuring things out. 

They hadn’t even had _that_ discussion— the relationship talk. That dreaded talk where you labeled yourself with titles. 

Tom shook his head as he stepped out of the hotel. A few fans had discovered where he was staying and waiting for him. He looked up from the ground where his eyes had been as he thought things through. He put a smile on his face and raised a hand in greeting. 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO 

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO 

_Dorothea_

I can’t believe this is happening.

This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.

How did this happen to me?

Is there another word for _happen_. It’s getting old. 

Where the hell am I? 

And why am I so fat? I look like I swallowed— 

I’m not pregnant.

OMG.

I am pregnant. How the frack did I fail to notice that?

I’m like six months pregnant!

Am I about to be on _I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant?_

“Door, darling, are you going to come out and face the music?”

Is that Tom? What the hell? Why does he sound so nasty? 

I’m so befuddled.

“I don’t know,” I answer. 

How the hell am I pregnant? I thought I was infertile?

Clearly, that’s not the case.

What…oh, could I be dreaming? I’ve dreamed I was knocked up before. 

“DOOR!”

Why the hell is Tom yelling at me?

OH CRAP. I’m not at home. Where the hell am I?

“TOM! Stop yelling at her!”

Ben’s here.

Oh, thank god. Ben!

I fling the door open to reveal a rather angry Tom Hiddleston, who smirks at me _a la_ Loki.

“You’re so dead,” he taunts.

“Tom!” 

Ben shoves Tom out of the way, a concerned look on his face as he spots me. He searches my face for a moment before he hugs me and starts to assure me it’ll be okay. He’s murmuring sweet assurances into my ear while Tom Hiddleston gives me the most haterific look I’ve ever seen.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Tom spits at me.

“Tom! You are not helping!” Ben snaps, pulling back to glare at Tom.

“Oh, but aren’t I?”

Tom is really channeling his inner Loki. And it looks like all kinds of wrong on his Tom Hiddleston face. 

Wait…does that make sense?

“Tom!” Ben shouts. 

“Oh, shut up, Benedict,” Tom sneers. 

I’m getting mad. Like really mad at Tom Hiddleston. He is not being NICE. How DARE he not be nice to me!

“This not my fault! I thought I was infertile! I haven’t been on birth control since I ran out in Alaska! That was three years ago! How the hell am I pregnant?”

Tom snorts and shakes his head as if he cannot believe I’m so stupid.

“Please, tell me the American school system explained—” 

“TOM!”

Tom folds is arms across his chest and glares. 

“Door, sweetheart, it’ll be fine. This is a good thing.”

Tom huffs disdainfully.  

“How? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand,” Tom mocks in a similar manner Jason uses when he mocks some of his fellow pilot students when they fail to grasp something that should be easy. 

“But, I don’t! I’m clearly pregnant!” I motion to my belly.

Ben smiles. Happily. He looks funny. Why does he look funny?

“Where’s Jason?”

“Oh, now she remembers him!” Tom sneers.

What the hell is going on? 

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Ben assures, putting an arm around me. “He doesn’t need to know.”

“How? What? I’m married to him!”

Ben and Tom both give me two very different looks. Ben looks pained and Tom rolls his eyes and it appears to think I’m an idiot.

I am.

“Where’s Basil? I want Basil,” I moan, trying to escape from Ben. 

“Basil is back in the States,” Ben says, sadly. 

“Stupid dog,” Tom says. “Jason should leave that mutt back in that field they found her drooling in.”

“TOM!” both Ben and I shout. 

Tom puts his hands up. “Fine. Whatever.”

Tom exits the room, slamming the door.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll be the best parents.”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

I sit up, panting, and quickly put my hands on my stomach to find it flat. (Well, as flat as it can get. I’m no Victoria Secret model, but I am clearly not pregnant.) I stare around the dark room. Jason is sleeping (of course, what else would he be doing) and is about as far away from me as he can get. 

We’re still not speaking to one another. 

Never before have I regretted living in a tiny one bedroom apartment and renting a crappy couch more so than I do now. I cannot sleep on the couch. Jason refuses to sleep on the couch. He also refuses to make up with me. Usually, how our fights work are that we both get mad, stop speaking to one another and at some point, we go back to how we were before as neither of us remember what we were fighting about. (If it is important, we work it out, but most of our fights are stupid.)

I forgot what I was mad about, so I’ve been trying to talk to him, but he refuses to speak to me. He leaves early in the morning, stranding me in the apartment, and doesn’t come back till bedtime. He takes a shower and goes to bed.

I feel rotten, but I can’t figure out what I did to piss him off so much. 

I’ve never pissed him off for more than an hour. 

Okay, once he fell asleep and I was mad the entire night, but when he finally woke up in the morning, he didn’t remember that I was mad. 

Which only made me madder, but then we had words and things were fine. 

I don’t know what to do.

Nor does Ben. 

Ben doesn’t fight with people. He apologizes. Constantly.  

I tried apologizing. Jason hummed and slammed the door to the bathroom. I almost thought he was going to sleep in the garden tub he was in there for so long, but he waited till he thought I was asleep before coming to bed. 

I don’t know what is wrong.

I swallow heavily and ease out of bed, knowing I cannot go back to sleep after that strange dream I just had.

Tom was mean to me!

That must mean something, right? Can Tom be mean? (Well, clearly, he can act mean. He’s had roles that required him to be mean. I thought Freddie was mean…but then, Hester had her own issues. So his rage was somewhat understandable. And then, Loki anyone?) 

Oh, it was just a silly dream. 

I pad out into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me. I stare at the mess in the dining room for a moment and sigh. I pick my phone up from where I left it charging and check the time. 

It’s three in the morning.

I really want to call Ben, but he’s likely filming. Better text, then he can answer between takes. 

I don’t know what to say.  

I sit down on the couch, drawing my legs up to my chest and stare blankly ahead. I hear scratching on the closed bedroom door. I get up and open it. Basil slinks out, looking up at me and pretending to be adorable. 

“Hey,” I say to her, shutting the door again. I go back to the couch and wave an arm indicating she can get up. She doesn’t jump up to her spot, though, at the other end of the couch— the spot farthest from where I sit. Instead, she leaps up next to me, putting her furry self right up against my side. She cuddles into me, acting very unlike her usual self. 

She only acts like this when I don’t feel good.

I don’t feel good. I feel like crap. 

I feel broken and I don’t know why. 

I lean over and hug the dog. She lets me. She even gives me a few licks, as if that will make everything better. 

I love my dog. 

* * *

Things don’t get better by the time the week draws to a close. Jason texts me on Friday afternoon to say he’s spending the weekend at Dan’s. 

I’m not sure how he got to work this AM, as the car is parked outside. At least I can leave now.

Tom’s been in town since Thursday. Pamela dumped him at the apartment on Friday so I could entertain him, failing to realize I had no car so all he could do was watch TV while I sewed together ugly orange purses. Pamela picked him up and I haven’t seen either since. 

I’m on auto pilot. I make purses, I eat when my stomach tells me to and I respond when someone speaks. I put on a show worthy of an Oscar. 

I’m sure no one has caught on I’m a miserable wreck.

How did this happen?

What even happened?

Why have I not figured out a better word for _happen_? 

How’d I miss I was having martial issues? I know I’m kind of dense, but wouldn’t I notice there was a problem in my own freaking marriage?

Clearly, something happened that I was unaware of and is…making Jason angry. 

I can’t even tell if Jason is mad at me or is just tired of me. 

People do get tired of me. I’m kind of annoying. 

The computer is ringing. 

I turn the laptop to face me on the table where I’m piecing together yet another ugly orange purse. 

Why does everyone want an ugly orange bag just because Tom Hiddleston had one?

“Hey, Ben,” I greet answering Skype. 

“Hey. You look as tired as I feel,” he jokes, eyeing me. 

“It’s like…” 

I am too exhausted to do the time conversion to figure out what time it is in England. Or where ever he is. I don’t even know what time it is here. Time is meaningless. 

“Late. I know,” Ben agrees. “We just finished up for the evening. Set work can get done in a timely manner. No worrying about the weather.”

He chuckles. 

“True. Weather is a hazard. To many a thing,” I lament. “I hate orange.”

“I know, dear,” Ben calmly agrees. “Door…”

“Ben?”

“Where’s Jason?”

I freeze, glancing up at the screen where Ben is peering at me in question. 

“In the other room?”

“No, he’s not. Basil is on the floor behind you,” he points out. “Pointedly staring at you.” 

Traitor dog.

“He’s not here. He left.”

“Left?”

“He went to hang out with Dan and those other dogs,” I say, turning my attention to the purse I’m working on. Even though I know it’s rude, I start sewing. The machine is clangorous and I’m not paying attention so I almost sew my finger to the seam of the purse. 

Some colorful cursing happens. Occurs. OCCURS. No more happening. 

“Door.”

“What?” I snap.

“What is going on?”

I burst into tears.

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Benedict_

Oh, dear.

She’s crying. 

All out bawling.

I cannot see her face, as she’s moved out of the view of the camera on her laptop. I can hear her though. 

It’s painful. 

I want to be there to comfort her, while at the same time I wish to look away and allow her to cry in private. Over the noise of her sobbing, I hear the click of Basil’s nails as she walks across the floor. Door’s hair comes into view and she begins mumbling at the dog. She finally sits up, picking Basil up and hugs the dog to her.

Basil looks miserable.

“Door?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” she cries, burying her face in Basil’s fur. Basil looks like she wants to make a break for it, but at the same time is resigned to her captivity within Door’s arms. The dog gives up any resistance suddenly, cuddling into Door.

At least Basil is there for her and she’s not sitting alone in her apartment feeling retched. 

“I know you and Jason have been having trouble…but, still no resolution?”

“No.”

“No?”

“He won’t talk to me except to grunt or hum at me. I’ve tried to speak to him, but he isn’t budging. I don’t know what’s wrong. He’s avoided me all week and then sent me a text on Friday he was going to Dan’s all weekend. Our time is running out! We’re moving in May!”

She loosens her grip on Basil and Basil vanishes with a resounding thump on the floor. Door stares blankly off to the left.

“I had a dream and Tom was mean to me,” she randomly says. 

“Uh…”

“He was really mean,” she sniffs. “Like really mean. And he wasn’t in character or anything, he was just Tom. And he was mean to me.”

I have no clue how to respond to that. 

“And I was pregnant. It was weird,” she goes on, wiping her face with the back of her hand. 

I shift, feeling uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know what to do, but I can’t sit around here any longer,” she says, suddenly sounding stronger. She’s wearing a fierce look on her face and grabs the laptop, dragging it closer to her. 

Her eyes are red and puffy, but she looked utterly determined. 

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” she states flatly.

She violently uses the track pad. The entire laptop shakes. 

“Shouldn’t you speak to Jason before—”

“I’ve tried that,” she says. “I’m going away and when I get back if he wants to talk, then fine. Oh, hey, is it okay if I crash with you? Hey, when are you going to be in London?” 

“Uh…don’t you have my schedule?” I lamely asked. 

I click around on the laptop to find my schedule while Door is still violently doing whatever she’s doing on her own laptop. Or there is an earthquake happening in Texas. 

“I have filming for Sherlock in Cardiff mostly. I’ll be in London on the second of May to do _Into Darkness_ press.” 

There is more clicking, more punching keys on the laptop on Door’s end. She is dangerously silent wearing a look of determination on her face. I put a hand over my eyes and drag it over my face, unsure what to say and unsure how to make her feel better or stop her from… 

Do I want to stop her?

Don’t answer that.

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

“We should have the conversation.”

“What conversation?”

“You know.”

“No, Thomas, I do not know. Aren’t we having a conversation?”

“Yes, we are having one, but we ought to…sort things out before I go back to London.”

“Sort things out?”

“Yes, you know…”

Tom waved a large hand around, Pamela watching it out of the corner of her eye as they sat entwined on the massively uncomfortable couch in her hotel room. They had been ensconced on the couch since waking up that morning, enjoying their last hours together till Tom had to catch his flight back to London. 

“Know what? Thomas, just spit it out,” Pamela said, staring at him over her shoulder. 

“Labels.”

Pamela lifted herself off of Tom and stared at him. 

“You need a label? The ones you have aren’t enough?” she teased.

Tom leveled her a look, then sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, letting his head fall back onto the arm of the couch. Sprawled out as he was, he took up an awful lot of room. 

“I know what you’re talking about,” Pamela allowed, poking him in the stomach. 

That got an instant reaction.

Tom was ticklish. 

It was utterly, sickeningly adorable. 

“Does Luke wish to issue a press release?” Pamela asked, grinning as Tom wrapped his arms around his middle to protect himself. 

“No. No,” Tom assured. “There is no need for a press release, or a statement at the moment.”

“Will there be need for one in the future?” Pamela asked, frowning. “I don’t know how you people work. I know when something…bad happens, famous people issue statements, but…do they really issue one when they date…non-famous people?”

“I do not believe they usually do. I guess sometimes they issue statements stating they are dating, but I can’t think…no. I…”

Tom trailed off, frowning. 

“Do you want to issue a statement between us so it is clear in your head?”

And mine too, Pamela added silently. 

She was not sure how dating worked when one wasn’t in high school. Her last boyfriend had been in college, but she’d met him in high school. They’d done the whole, “Will you go out with me?” thing awkwardly over the phone after being awkward a few days after sucking face like it was going out of style. (She was sure he wouldn’t call her again after that disaster.)

“It is clear in my head,” Tom stated, a series expression appearing. His eyes burned with something Pamela was unable to place as he added, “I’ve no desire to see anyone else in the manner I see you, darling.”

The _you’re mine_ was left unsaid. 

And kind of barbaric, but there was a little piece of Pamela that wanted to belong to someone, to be claimed as a romantic attachment. While she wasn’t a romantic and lacked any sense of romance, she was human and wanted to belong. Yeah, she belonged to the Air Force, she belonged to her family, but she wanted…something else. Wanted to belong…well, to Tom.

Pamela flushed, looking down and fiddling with the ratty edge of the t-shirt she was wearing. Tom reached up and placed his larger than average hands on either side of her face. (It must look seriously ridiculous— her tiny head in his huge hands…)

“I am…quite serious about…you,” Tom offered, that adorable wrinkle appearing between his eyes he got when he was thinking hard or was, in fact, quite serious. 

Pamela reached up and smoothed the wrinkle out with her thumb. “I know.”

She knew she ought to scream, be scared out of her head, and screech it was too fast, too much, too soon— but she felt none of that.

Everything felt right. 

She knew she ought to be bothered they’d almost never see on another— between her job and his job— but they’d figure it out. It was the information age and there was almost nowhere in the world difficult to get to these days. 

“So, we’ll be exclusive? You won’t see other guys, I will not pay attention to other females.”

Pamela snorted, lowering her head. “Uh, huh.”

“Unless they are fans and require my attention,” Tom amended. 

“Sure. What about co-stars? You going to avoid eye contact with them?”

“As long as you promise to break the nose of all your students who are amp to hit on you,” Tom offered.

“Not allowed.”

“Well, it tends to be frowned upon to stare at your co-star unless the script calls for it. Or they demand it when you’re speaking to one another. I do try to be friendly,” Tom teased.

“You are utterly…ridiculous,” Pamela huffed. 

Tom dropped her face and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. She snuggled in and closed her eyes. 

“I guess there would be a fraternization rule,” Tom mused quietly.

Pamela huffed again. “Of course. We’re the military. We love rules.”

Tom chuckled. Pamela pressed her ear to his chest and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of his laugh in her ear— along with the thump of his heartbeat. 

It was still surreal she was allowed to do this, to hear his heartbeat and be this close. 

“We need to get food,” Pamela remembered, pressing her face into his chest. She pushed herself up and moved to roll off the couch. “I have nothing to feed you before your flight.”

“Oh. What time is it?”

“Afternoon?” Pamela tried. “No clue. We’ve been ignoring the clock all day. We can go to HEB. It’s just down the road. Only requires highway driving because the access road doesn’t go all the way through for some bizarre reason.”

Tom laughed loudly, forever amused by how San Antonio constructed its roadways. Pamela grinned, enjoying the sound of that laugh that she was learning was quite well known. 

“Oh. Next time you have leave and we can get our schedules to cooperate, you must meet Chris.”

Pamela froze, searching her head for who the hell Chris was. She stared blankly at Tom for a moment.

“Not the Chris you met that you always and forever will call Chris Evans,” Tom chuckled, gracefully sitting up and swinging himself off the couch. “Hemsworth? The man who plays Thor?”

Pamela blinked a few times, trying to put a face with the name. 

“You’ve got no clue,” Tom fondly said, smiling. He trucked her hair behind her ears and fondly pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before moving passed her. “Google him, darling. I’ll be back.”

Pamela flipped her laptop open and booted it up. She opened a browser and googled the name— it popped up instantly before she had to hazard how to spell it correctly. She was greeted by a large, beefy, looking blond man. She hit images and saw quite a few of the man with Tom, mostly because they’d both recently attended the _Iron Man 3_ premiere together. She closed the laptop.

“He was in the _Stark Trek_ movie,” Pamela supplied. 

Tom chuckled. “How on Earth do you remember that, yet you fail to remember he was in _Thor_ with me?” 

Pamela felt her cheek go pink as Tom quietly laughed at her. She raked a hand through her hair, looking for her phone. Tom grabbed her around the waist, kissing her head before handing her phone (which also doubled as her wallet thanks to a clever phone cover). She slipped it into her pocket and smiled up at him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m still trying to come to grips that the Macarana is no longer a thing,” she lied. “It’s hard to keep track of all these new people on top of all the new people in my class. I’m horrible with names, as you well know.”

“I know, darling,” Tom said, sounding more fond than annoyed. “Anyways, _Christopher_ and Elsa would love to meet you.”

Pamela felt her cheeks heat up more, wondering just how much Tom had spoken about her to people. 

“Likely, I won’t see him till the _Thor 2_ premiere. Will you be able to take leave in November?”

“Uh, likely. I don’t know. I don’t have…well, you know.”

Pamela had tried her best to forget her up in the air assignment. She thought she was going to Del Rio with the Abercrombies, but the other day she’d gotten an email from McChord (still technically her base) stating there was a problem with her orders and she might not be going to Del Rio. She was still flying the stupid T-6, but the base might be changing and they’d let her know.

She wasn’t…happy. 

“Yes,” Tom said quietly, knowing perfectly well what she was not saying. “Let’s go find food. I’m sure everything will look better when we’ve eaten more than cereal.”

Pamela doubted it, but nodded nevertheless. 

* * *

Pamela stared at the copy of her new orders.

“Well?”

She looked up suddenly at one of her fellow IP students. He sat down next to her, staring at the paper in her hands. 

“Oh, bust. You’re going to Vance.”

Pamela frowned. “Yeah.”

“Might be better,” another guy said from the other side of the room. 

“Better?” Pamela asked. “All my stuff is in Del Rio.”

There was a round of snorts from all her fellow IP students and the instructors. Everyone in the room knew the hassles of moving— some more than others. 

“It’ll be easier to see your boyfriend,” the first guy (Andrew, his name tag supplied once Pamela could read it) offered. “No three hour drive to the airport. It’s just an hour to OKC from Enid.” 

Pamela blankly stared at him. It made sense he knew how long it took to get to the airport (he’d gone through pilot training at Vance), but the other thing he said was the cause of the blank look. 

He grinned. 

“My wife saw it somewhere online. She showed me, as she thought it was the HEB we use. She was mad we went to the commissary instead,” Andrew went on. He yanked out his cell phone and punched the face a few times. His phone buzzed. “My wife just sent me the link. I’ll send it to you.”

Pamela pulled out her own phone and waited to get the text. She hit the link and was taken to some website she’d never heard of and stared at herself and Tom walking out of HEB. 

She wished she’d worn nicer clothes.

“Lemme see!”

“Who is that?”

“Why’s Fitch on the internet?”

Pamela glanced up to find the other boys (they were not men as they were acting like teenagers) to find them all battling over Andrew’s phone.

It was honestly amazing almost every one of them was married.

“Wait…isn’t that the dude…wait, who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“He played Loki in the _Avengers_ movie last summer,” Pamela offered.

They all stared at her as if she had three heads. 

“How do you know him?”

Pamela smiled as her phone buzzed. 

_YOU FORGOT MY BAG YOU TRAITOR!_

Pamela chuckled at the text Door had sent her, standing and leaving the briefing room. The boys all went back to bickering over Andrew’s phone and how it was possible that Pamela Fitch knew a famous person (the photo didn’t claim she and Tom were dating— in fact it said nothing about the girl holding Tom’s hand strangely. Just an excited fangirl stating she saw Tom at her local grocery store). 

**How’s London?**

_Brilliant. Don’t think I’ll be leaving. Oh, thx for sending Tom._

**You’re welcome. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a familiar face.**

_Yeah. Might not have been thinking clearly when I planned this._

**Well, let me know when you decide to come home.**

_Will do. Tom is demanding my attention._

**Okay. Tell him I’ll talk with him when I get home.**

Pamela knew when Door was ready, Pamela would get the real story on why she felt the need to run away to London without planning anything other than making sure Ben was somewhere in the country (he was in Cardiff, not London). Pamela hadn’t wanted to go along with Door’s insanity, but something in her expression when she turned up at Pamela’s hotel on Sunday afternoon with a bunch of bags told Pamela to shut up and drive the woman to the airport.

Pocketing her phone, Pamela headed back to the flight room, where the boys were still battling over Andrew’s phone.

* * *

 

_Edited and reloaded 6 September 2013_


End file.
